


I'd follow you anywhere

by Unfathomablespace



Category: Jeeves & Wooster, Jeeves - P. G. Wodehouse
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bertie is a vlogger, Fluff, I dont know what im at, Jeeves is a lawyer but not into it, M/M, Modern AU, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-11
Updated: 2017-08-10
Packaged: 2018-10-17 18:52:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10600059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unfathomablespace/pseuds/Unfathomablespace
Summary: Jeeves and Wooster in the Internet age. Jeeves posts fashion inspiration and poetry. Bertie sings and tells stories.They are both in love with each other.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The title is a pun. That really indicats the level of quality you are working with here. 
> 
> Bertie's speech is bolded. Jeeves' is not.

Three million, ninety-six thousand, not bad, what? As Mr. Wooster would say. 

 

Reginald Jeeves was unusually proud of the stranger. He sat in his flat, the dark room lit only by this sleek laptops light.  He rested his head on his palm, brushing his lips with his forefinger. It was a Thursday and a new video had been uploaded. It was a “thank up” for reaching three million, and admittedly a bit late. 

 

Reginald couldn't help but find that endearing. Anyone else would have been sat in front of the computer, waiting for the counter to ping. Not Bertie Wooster. To the best of Reginald’s knowledge, through thorough examination of his social media, Bertie had been out with his friends at the time. Probably punting shuttlecocks into a river or having a picnic.

 

Setting down his phone and pressing play on the loaded video, he took a sip of a well mixed cocktail. This really was the best way to relax.

 

Reginald let the mad, happy rambling wash over him. Bertie was flustered and flushed with his success and it was adorable. When he said that he couldn't believe his luck, you believed him. He didn't look like he had an ounce of misplaced pride or malice in him. If anything he needed to give himself more credit. 

 

He needs someone to look after him, thought Reginald. In all of Bertie’s stories he was always doing something for one of his friends. And it was going to land him in serious trouble if he continued along this line. 

 

Reginald had “discovered” BERTIE_WOOSTER three weeks ago upon the recommendation of a terrifyingly bubbly friend. And then, a week ago, he actually watched him at the even more terrifying continued insistence of said friend. He ploughed through the entire body of work in two days. 

 

Bertie was an incredibly talented musician with the same level of concentration as a gnat. He often broke off mid-song to tell a story he'd just remembered.

 

It had been disconcerting at first. Now Reginald began laughing as soon as he heard “Ha! Actually, I'll tell you what -” and the madcap tale that followed. 

 

He had a sweet, strange sort of face. It was the most expressive  _ visage  _ that Reginald had ever observed. The assembly shouldn't have worked but it did. Bertie had no top lip to speak off and his eyes were a touch too far apart, but he was  _ so  _ charming. 

 

He had a following not dissimilar to that of any other YouTube celebrity, and  following in that line, his fans were equally rabid. There were edits of him flower crowns and tattoos. He was inundated with comments and messages and pictures. Reginald imagined that it must be dreadful to have that much adoration all the time. 

 

Despite this, Bertie was a general all round delight, featuring on any relevant social media sites you'd care to mention. Reginald followed him on every single one. 

 

The video finished and Reginald gave his drink the same honour. He went to pour himself another, when his phone lit up. 

 

**BERTIE_WOOSTIE posted:**

The Drones and I, out and about with the chaps! #newvideoup #squad #whatho

 

Reginald chuckled at the photo, quashing the shame of having notifications on. He was adorable in this, wearing dreadful black circular sunglasses and an awful bar choker. Reginald fixed himself another drink, stronger than the last. He'd had a long day. 

 

It had seemed ideal for him, originally, working as a solicitor. However, working for simpletons or fundamentally unpleasant people tired him and worse, bored him. He wanted to be surrounded by nice people, he did. He wanted to be in control of things and not, undermined at every turn by wheedling, cheating husbands and stupid, violent teenager substance abusers. 

 

He supposed this Wooster chap was a break from that. That's why he had just spent an evening in his virtual company. He was all sweetness and light. Bertie Wooster was lovely. 

 

Oh God, the alcohol was beginning to hit him. He wondered what it would be like to talk to someone that nice. What would he even say?

 

Hello. Obvious, really.

 

Reginald giggled. He feared he was actually drunk, which was most usual for him. He was not given to excess, but I suppose everyone has their vices. How would Wooster say it -

 

Gills to the wind?

 

Watered at the sails?

 

Dipped by the coat tails?

 

What was the point of being a rising star twenty six year old solicitor when it was so lonely? He was sat here, drinking alone, in a flat he lived in, alone. He took out his phone and fiddled, he wasn't used to fiddling. This interest was bordering on obsession, something had to be done. So, he messaged him.

 

“How do you do?”

 

If the existential dread hadn't hit it before, it was beating him about the head now. What was that? Who even said “how do you do?” 

 

Why did he do these things to himself? He was almost certainly going to die alone. He was about to put away the bottle and go to bed, when the phone lit up again. 

He glanced down at the screen. It was some Bertie fan-account. 

 

**“Bally well, old thing!”**

 

Well, they had him down to a tee. 

 

Wait. There was his message, that was to the official page. Meaning, that this message was from Bertie Wooster. 

 

Jeeves stood straight as a rocket, considering his replies. There wasn't much he could say really. Wooster was probably just humouring a fan, in a spare moment. As Reginald was staring at the phone another message popped up.

 

**“Well actually, I'm not the best actually just now but I just wanted to say that I love your stuff”**

 

Another message appeared before he could read the first. He blushed a drunk’s red blush. 

 

**“You really are gifted with the whole poetry thing and the fashion wheeze. I'm a big fan”**

 

If anyone else had said that to him, in that way, he'd be embarrassed or annoyed. But Wooster was better than most people. And even better, he knew who he was. 

 

Jeeves clicked his “Followers” with shaking fingers and scrolled. It turned out, Bertram Wilberforce Wooster had been following  _ him _ the whole time. Reginald felt faint and felt into a nearby chair. It had been three minutes, he had to text back quickly.

 

“May I enquire why you aren't in the best spirits?”

 

The response came as fast as the first one had. Reginald appreciated promptness.

 

**“You even speak prettily. That's nice. I'm waiting here to bail out a pal of mine.”**

 

Reginald was sure he had lost his grip on reality. This man was unreal in the literal sense. He didn't know him from Adam and yet he was cheerful and complimentary. Jeeves reminded himself not to get run away with. 

 

“Pardon?”

 

“ **Someone called the police on Ginger. He hit a Swan over the head with a cricket bat”**

 

“I see” texted Jeeves, smiling.

 

“ **By someone I mean my dratted Aunt Agatha.”**

 

Here Jeeves let out uninhibited laugh, rich and deep. This man managed to mangle himself into so many messes. He was a such an idiot.

 

“Of course she did”

 

**“We have to find a lawyer or some nonsense now. I've never been the blighter on the outside of the cell, old thing.”**

 

They needed a decent solicitor to smooth this over. Jeeves sucked down the last of his second drink. This was most amusing and very fortunate for Mr. Wooster really. 

“I'm a solicitor.”

 

**“A what?”**

 

**“** ....a lawyer, Mr. Wooster”

 

“ **Well! Call me Bertie.”**

 

Jeeves blushed again, head to toe. 

 

“ **Want to come down here and keep me company while I dig out Ginger? Might need a legal eye”**

 

 **“** I am most honoured at the invitation, but you don't know who I am. This seems unwise. I can't recommend it”

 

**“I've followed you the proper amount of time, you follow me on everything anyway. I don't see why not Jeeves, if I may call you Jeeves.”**

 

Jeeves dropped the phone, finally sober. Oh God, he knew. He absolutely knew. 

 

“ **Besides I think you're smashing”**

Oh, he knew. 

 

Jeeves threw hesitation and caution and common sense to the wind. He decided to take the plunge.

 

 **“** Address?” and then thinking it over, "and you may call me what you like."

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They meet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My continued misguided attempts at fic in this fandom.

The long, willowy frame of Bertram Wooster, slumped against the stony, cold police station. He cursed his Aunt Agatha, he didn't so mind that she cared more about swans than nephews. However, he would prefer if she left him out of the whole affair.

 

Ginger had only been waving the swan off Bertie, who had all but been given a taste for blood before the cricket bat had entered the picture. The young Bertram was rolling for his life, guarded by an inept knight when he heard the shrill, commanding voice of the dreaded Aunt on the phone. Trust her to grass Ginger and him over to the law.

 

Bertie pulled out a gasper. He lit it and was thankful that this escapade was relatively straightforward, with no fans or fillies interfering. After all Aunt Agatha was not a filly, she was some kind of well shaved werewolf. 

 

He reckoned that you couldn't be locked up for waving a bat around. But you never know, what?

 

His phone lit up in his hand.  Florence wanted to know where they were. He ignored her, saving that shouting at for when Ginger was there to back him up. There wasn't much to do outside a police station at eight o'clock except smoke and mess about in his phone. 

 

Bertie scrolled through his phone, using his official account. He liked seeing what his fans thought of him. Some of the comments were funny. He even checked his direct messages. 

 

And stopped. 

 

**Jeeves just messaged you!**

 

Oh my word, Reginald Jeeves knew how he was. He was a god in the fashion words and a paragon of poetry. Bertie loved him. He absolutely loved him, followed him on everything. 

 

“How do you do?” 

 

The man was a caricature of himself. Fantastic. Bertie texted back, smiling broadly. He might as well tell him how highly he regarded him. He clicked out of the page and looked through the man’s fashion picks for this week. He was wearing the green sock Jeeves had recommended at that very moment. 

 

His phone pinged and he scrambled to get to the message. 

 

“May I enquire why you aren't in the best spirits?”

 

He sounded so nice, like an old gentleman. Bertie’s heart gave a thump. How strange it was that someone like him even knew how he was. Even if he had fans, a lot of them were misguided teenage girls. Nothing wrong with that but he could never be what them thought they wanted i.e straight. 

 

But Jeeves was classy. He belonged to the world Bertie thought he ought to have been born into. He cut a romantic figure with a strong jawline, jet black slick hair and a crooked nose that only seemed to serve to make his face more intriguing. He possessed a certain air of confidence, competence and purpose. All of which Bertie found undeniably, incredibly attractive.

 

He also felt like telling this relative stranger all of his troubles. So he did. What could a true intellectual make of the situation. The long and the short of it was that this Jeeves fellow was a solicitor. Bertie took this as a sign. That was a decent reason to get him down here. 

 

“Well! Call me Bertie. Want to come down here and keep me company while I dig out Ginger? Might need a legal eye”

 

The response sent a stone sinking in his stomach. He knew it was irrational and went against every stranger danger class he had as a child. But he wanted a friend and he felt like Jeeves was a friend or would be. Bertie just hoped didn't come off as desperate or worse - trying to take advantage. 

 

“I am most honoured at the invitation, but you don't know who I am. This seems unwise. I can't recommend it”

 

There was nothing for it. He had to turn on the charm. He knew, in his heart, that he wasn't a bad looking chap. He Wooster was conveniently attractive to some and Jeeves was probably used enough to people throwing themselves at him that he wouldn't be offended. And, there was some logic to his line of thought which Bertie felt Jeeves would appreciate.    
  
“I've followed you the proper amount of time,  _ and  _ you follow me on everything anyway. So  don't see why not Jeeves, if I may call you Jeeves.”

 

Come on, Wooster. Don't betray your nervousness. Just tell him.   
  
“Besides I think you're smashing”   
  
There was a pause and Bertie almost panicked. Why was he such a fool? Why did he do the things he did? Why was he sat outside a police station posting bail at eight o'clock, texting an Internet crush to keep him company?   
  
“Address? And you may call me what you like."   
  


Marvellous.

_________

 

“Listen here you little worm, you may think that because you make those little videos that won't make the Constable throw you in irons but -”

 

“Not really, I intend to post bail fair and square, Spode! Of only you'd let Mr. And I really think -”

 

“You will address me as Mr. Spode, boy!”

 

Reginald turned the corner and finally bore witness to what he could hear from two streets away. He could see that this was not going as Bertie had perhaps planned. He stepped between the two man of supposed iron will.

 

“Excuse me, gentlemen. May I be of service, Mr. Wooster?”

 

“Who the devil are you?!”

 

“Reginald Jeeves, acting lawyer for Mr. Wooster and Mr. Winship”

 

Bertie was looking up at him with something like awe. Reginald swelled internally with a deep pride. Maybe law school hadn't been a complete waste of time. He managed to maintained his legendary calm and stared down this mountainous man towering with rage. He accomplished this mainly, by noticing that Spode’s moustache twitched as he spoke and instead of inspiring fear, only compelled him to laugh. 

 

Bertie stepped behind him and Reginald felt a delicious wave of that protective spirit hit him. The knowledge that he could save Bertie and his (admittedly immaterial to Jeeves) friend was deeply pleasurable. Not as pleasurable perhaps as the gratitude Bertie would sure display toward  _ him. _

 

Jeeves marched by Spode and into the main office. He stood ramrod straight by the desk, as was his way in this situations. The sergeant sitting immediately looked up despite the complete silence in which Reginald moved. He just had a presence, noticed Bertie. 

 

Bertie tore his eyes from Jeeves’ masterful figure and focused on the stressed man at the desk, when the former spoke. 

 

“What exactly has Mr. Winship been detained for?”

 

The clearly harassed sergeant didn't even have to shuffle papers around or think. He knew exactly who Jeeves was on about. He stood to lead the party to the cell. 

 

“He tried to kill one of the Queen’s swans” said the poor man, meekly. Bertie’s heart went out to him, Spode had nearly chewed  _ his  _ head off and he doubted the man had much more respect for a lowly sergeant.  

 

“He tried to kill one of MY swans”

 

“As I keep telling you, no he didn't.  Ginger was only trying to get the blighter off of me!”

 

“So you admit -”

 

“Excuse me, Mr. Spode,” interrupted the cool lawyer. 

 

“Mr Spode to you, Jenkins”

 

“It's Jeeves,  _ Mr Spode _ ” replied Jeeves, every syllable dripping with concentrated contempt. “You might remember me from the Eulalie case a few years ago”

 

“Oh, I see”, said Spode, deflating. It was a wondrous thing to watch, the ruddy red  colour evaporating and inches falling from his gait. 

 

Jeeves looked tremendously pleased. He thought,  _ if this doesn't win over Wooster, nothing will _ . It was becoming a struggle to keep his face clear of any smirk or mirth. 

 

Beside him, Bertie, following in what was to become a pattern - was doing exactly what Jeeves thought he would, namely just generally being very impressed. 

 

Spode wrung his hands, “Eulalie?”

 

The sergeant and Bertie tried their best to look extremely interested so someone would have the good grace to tell them who Eulalie was. No one obliged. 

 

“Was the swan injured, grievously harmed or killed?”

 

“No, but I”

 

“Do you intend to press charges at all,  _ Mr Spode?” _

 

_ “ _ Well I-”

 

“ _ Mr Spode”  _ chided Jeeves darkly.

 

“No”, said the flummoxed Spode, defeated. He biffed off, muttering to himself. The policeman seemed relieved and went to fetch Ginger. 

 

Jeeves glanced back at Bertie and made eye contact for second and both felt a tiny fission of electricity. He raked his eyes over Bertie and felt anticipation make a home in his stomach. 

 

_ Oh, yes. _

 

“You're a marvel, Jeeves!”

 

Jeeves looked down and smiled minutely. When he looked up, Bertie was still staring, slightly open mouthed at him. He looked so sweet that Jeeves couldn't help but melt.

 

_ I have him,  _ they both thought at the same time.

 

When Ginger was finally released from his bondage, the the two were leaning against the wall, chatting happily. They looked like they'd been friends for years. He hung back to let them have their moment. 

 

And they were smiling. They were smiling like they couldn't stop. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unfathomablespace on the old tumblr thing.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I like to think that Jeeves' has a dreadfully endearing habit of blushing near constantly when Bertie is about.

The next day Reginald awoke with a mild headache and the tentative love light in his eyes. He felt quite the conqueror and despite, not having planned his encounter with Bertie as meticulously as he might have given time, he still felt it had been a success.  He rolled over in the ridiculously soft white sheets and reached for his phone. It was a Sunday morning and having completed his paperwork yesterday, he, blissfully, had nothing to do. 

 

Usually this void in his schedule would have posed a problem. Reginald maintained excellent relations with everyone he met but rarely bonded deeply with anyone. Not that he wanted for friends or people about his person but café attendances were known to pity his solitary enjoyment of the house’s blend. 

 

He'd bonded with Bertie though. More importantly, he'd gotten his number. 

 

He didn't worry at the lack of messages, understanding that it wouldn't be sporting for Bertie to have contacted him with such haste. However he did fervently wish to contact him. After a moment of deliberation he refrained, opting to observe social norms. 

 

He instead slaughtered time choosing a photo from his drafts and typing up today’s fashion forecast. The title sickened him somewhat but one did what one must to stay relevant in the online world. And, he thought, if it had interested Wooster, it couldn't have been  _ too  _ bad. 

 

The post tacked the problem of “chokers” and how much choker was too much. Reginald wasn't a backward man. He knew a serviceable trend when he saw one, but as with everything else he could imagine, discretion was needed. He had suffered under the escalation in width, of recent and refused to stay silent on the matter any longer.

 

Within seconds of his posting his opinions a ray of sunshine lit up his notifications telling him that BERTIE_WOOSTER agreed with him wholeheartedly. Good. The boy has  _ some  _ sense then after all. 

 

Grasping his self control in one hand, Jeeves continued his lack of communication. The day passed as days do, pleasantly. It was a rare treat to do exactly as he pleased for Reginald. He read many books, flitting between them and perusing as he pleased. 

 

It was eight o'clock when he was blessed by another notification from the captain of his heart. There was a new video. Most strange, considering Bertie usually operated on a strict schedule of Monday and Saturday uploads. Intrigued, Reginald clicked. 

 

The video was titled “A Knight in Shining Suit” and Jeeves nearly passed out. He opened the video without any signal passing from his massive brain to his digits. The fingers that held the phone shook and he set the full screen down on his desk. He was a man possessed, gaping in a very ungentlemanly fashion. 

 

“What ho!” came the familiar greeting. Reginald could feel a treacherous blush rising. He reined himself in, in case the knight wasn't him. It couldn't be him, could it?

 

On screen, Bertie outlined the exploits of Ginger and Spode’s kept swan. Reginald usually enjoyed the boy’s rambling footnotes but today he longed for Bertie to reach the point. 

 

“Now some among you may not be privy to the fine fashion blogger that goes by the name of Jeeves. I can honestly say he is the only thing that has saved you all the torture, I'm told, of seeing me in a triple plaid outfit that I mistakenly assumed would be quite natty-”

 

Reginald paused the video, stood up straight and moved to lay down the bed. He wasn't sure if it was the praise that had finally keeled him over, or the thought of Bertram Wooster wearing three items of plaid upon his person. After a moment, feeling revived, he returned to his desk and pressed play. 

 

“However, last night I made first contact with the man, well actually it was he that initiated the conversation but one leaves such trivialities to one side in moments such as these.”

 

Reginald felt his stomach acting very oddly. Caterpillars had nested, pupated and hatched. They were now flying about rudely inside his gastric regions. It was very uncomfortable.

 

“Well, suffice to say old Reg, I forgot to mention his first name is Reginald, came down to the police station, I also forgot to mention he is a man of the law, himself. Not a policeman you understand but - what was the word he used, oh yes! A solicitor. Well. He swooped in like the hand of God and fished my dear Ginger directly from the soup. It was quite the sight to see.”

 

Reginald considered the advantages of another brief bed sojourn but persevered.

 

“Not only all of this, my loves, but I managed to snag his number, old things” 

 

Here, Bertie winked. He set about wrapping up the video, reminding all to like and subscribe. Reginald didn't mind this, despite hating it when others did it but Bertie did it so charmingly that he could help but be well, charmed. 

 

This bore thinking about. From the bed, Jeeves thought. 

______________

Miles away, Bertram Wooster shut off his laptop. It had be quite the feat filming and editing a video in one day. He was accustomed to don't this over the course of a day or two, at his leisure, you understand. 

 

However he had be seized by a bout of creativity or rather, excitement about his evenings actions. It occurred him that he should have perhaps asked Jeeves’ permission before posting such a video, but he was nervous. Reginald was clearly a man of letters and he was not, by all stretch. He did not want to seem the fool in front of such a paragon of a form and mind. 

 

He was quite taken with him to tell the truth. And Bertie simply did not know how to proceed. Opening up the chat window, he reviewed the log. He hadn't done too badly, in his own humble estimation. However maintaining the heights of his conversational skills was a daunting thought. He knew he had to do something. So he did. 

 

On a whim, a panicked whim, he typed out a message. 

 

“How do you feel about lunch tomorrow?”

 

Bertie set the phone down, breathing a long breath. The deed was done. He stood to leave the metaphorical pot to boil unwatched.  He need not have bothered. The phone glowed and a tune hummed from the phone. 

 

Bertie dove after the device. Jeeves had texted. Jeeves had messaged him back,  _ post haste!  _ Delight was not the word. 

 

“I would look forward to it, Bertram”

 

Bertie’s heart swelled. He'd used his name! This was all too much for the Wooster  _ corpus _ . He sat down, beaming and burrowed his hand in his arms, like a schoolgirl.  Regaining himself and replying far too quickly he said -

 

“The Hive tomorrow? At one?”

 

“Perfect”

 

Bertie resumed his position at the table. Nothing else could possibly be accomplished tonight. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unfathomablespace on the tumblr.  
> I live for comments, I really do.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having dealt with my feeling on the escalation of chokers, I indulge in coffeeshop nonsense.

Jeeves arrived. Bertie was sure there was some other things that could be mentioned, but the gravitas and grace with which he entered, halted any further description at the mo.

 

Bertie couldn't add any detail to the statement of his arrival at that moment because his brain had seemingly taken its annual leave. The man didn't look as if he belonged in this tea shop. Even if it was one of the better ones. He looked taller in the light of day and more intriguing. Like some marble marvel set up in the British Museum.

 

The gentle breeze had swept a lock of hair onto his forehead. His skin was flushed slightly from the cold. It took real physical effort to prise the Wooster eyes from it. He was dressed in a dark green and black tartan wool coat. Under it was a starched white shirt and a ink black tie made from some glossy material that only served to give Bertie uncouth ideas. 

 

Jeeves scanned the tables and pushed his hair back into its former, sleek glory.  _ Good,  _ thought Bertie,  _ I can concentrate now.  _ It was a rum thought that even the barest idea of seeing Jeeves outside his famed put-together appearance affected him so. He man approached. Bertie attempted to composed himself. 

 

He stood to meet Reginald and pulled out the chair for him. He wasn't sure why but it seemed like just the thing. There was the added bonus of Jeeves looking away, failing to hide a small, unbearable  _ cute _ smile. Bertie beamed, adding “being chivalrous” to the list of thing that could potentially enchant Jeeves.

 

Here Bertie, thought it would be a good time to get the drinks. This bit, leaving one's date at the table and biffing off,always seemed a bit awkward. He was anxious to be through with it and get started as it were. He turned on his smile and hoped it was charming or failing that -cheerful. 

 

“What’ll be, Reginald?” rocking on his feet with his hands tucked in his pockets. He'd warned himself against fidgeting at this was the best way around it. 

 

Jeeves raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips in thought. Bertie screamed internally. What breed of kitten exactly was this man? He was aware he was staring but Reginald was (hopefully) too deep in thought to notice the indiscretion.

 

“A double shot espresso, 40% Colombian blend with a dollop of whipped cream, if we’re going wild”

 

“Hmm?”, said Bertie, not snapping out of his reverie in time to catch all of that. He'd been watching the mouth move alright but failed to alert his ears.

 

Reginald rose, smiling, “Perhaps I'll order. What will you have.”

 

Bertie hadn't thought that far ahead, dash it. He didn't know anything fancy enough to throw out after what Jeeves had just recited. The other man stepped in again to save him, even if it was from his own mounting panic festering in the growing silence.

 

“A cappuccino, Bertram?”, toned Jeeves, his voice laced with amusement.

 

“Topping, Jeeves!”, ejected Bertie, pleased with himself despite having contributing very little. That at least sounded fancy enough for the occasion. 

 

Jeeves oiled off and Bertie collapsed into his chair, exhausted mentally. He really wanted to pull this whole Reginald thing off, wait, no not like that. A bit like that. But not at this second. Gosh.

 

He drummed his fingers against his lips. There was no preparation for a date like this. He knew Reginald (what a fantastic name) liked poetry and the sort and he could probably recognise a lot of that. Or at least keep up.  But what else did he like? Fishing? House-breaking? Jam making?

 

The man was an enigma and Bertie often struggled to pluck out the mystery of paperback crime novels. Jeeves may as have a hard copy of the Iliad in this metaphor.

 

At the counter, Jeeves felt similar. Although, of course, he displayed no out ward signs. The waiter was eyeing him meaningfully and he'd simply kept his head down. Thinking instead of the waiting Wooster. 

 

He paid. Choosing to avoid a tip just this once to avoid any numbers being slipped his way in front of Bertie. Reginald could see he was nervous, small child probably could in fact and he didn't want anything is discourage him. 

 

He grasped the cups and made his way back to the table, serving the cappuccino quietly. Bertie still started however and he found it hopelessly endearing. They sat. Now was the hard bit. 

 

Bertie took a sip of his drink and managed to get a full foam moustache for his troubles. Without knowing what he was doing, Reginald reached across the small table and wiped it away with his thumb. If Bertram had been agog before there were no words for the way his eyes bulged now. Reginald was delighted and decided to toy with him a bit. He liked the foam off his thumb like a cat with a saucer of cream. 

 

Bertie was overcome. Jeeves intervened. 

 

“How is Mr. Winship recovering?” 

 

Bertram knew a lifeline when he saw one and relaxed into speech.  

 

“Old Ginger? Oh he's fine, quite well in fact, endlessly grateful to you of course. You can count me in that bracket as well.”

 

Reginald seemed pleased with this. 

 

“So I gathered. I saw your more recent video on the subject.”

 

Reginald really was enjoying teasing him. He stared stares into Bertie’s eyes, taken drink and watched the blood rush to his cheeks.

 

“Ah, yes, well, about that -”

 

“Very flattering, I thought” 

 

“Ah yes. Rather. I had hoped-”

 

“You'd hoped what?”, interrupted Jeeves, mischievously. The tension finally broke and they laughed. The conversation flowed well after that with few stops or starts. 

 

They talked about what they did and how strange it was for a solicitor and a vlogger to be almost equally paying jobs but  _ why not _ , what? They told each other their interests and what they hoped would happen in the future. It was wonderful and romantic in the small, quaint way things should be. A true example of what all first dates should aspire to. 

 

It had been nearly three hours before either had responsibilities to be attending to. Well before Reginald did anyway. A note of sorrow fluttered on the ends of their parting words. Jeeves was gathering his thing and putting his coat when sound burst from Bertie.

 

“Ah, I'm free this Wednesday, if you're interested. Free! I meant, if you're free.”

 

“I'd love to. Dinner?”

 

“Yes! Yes. Quite.”

 

“I'll text you the details”

 

Jeeves leaned in and kissed a flustered Bertram on the the cheek before floating off, leaving an ecstatic Wooster to the rest of his day.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the myriad of spelling and grammar mistakes, hawk eyed young 'uns


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait! Not that anyone was waiting but hey. I was doing my exams and then I was just being lazy. Anyway here you go.

Bertie was certain Jeeves would choose somewhere nice so got to planning his outfit the second he received the text two days later. If we are being honest here, Bertie really planned on letting Jeeves dress him, consulting the man’s blog on what would be considered appropriate to be seen in public with him. This was difficult because while picturing what to put on Bertie’s thoughts frequently wandered to Jeeves pulling the garments off of him instead. 

 

It was six now and the date (a date!) was at eight. He settled on a dove grey suit with a Robin’s egg blue pinstripe and hoped for the best. Jeeves was picking him up like any gentleman should and Bertie was fidgeting and dithering about his apartment. He found the bar choker he'd worn on Instagram a few short days ago, which he now saw was not at all fashion forward and in fact offensive according to the paragon. He pegged it in bin and felt better for having done something concrete.

 

In the bathroom, Bertie looked at himself, not feeling as confident in his appearance as he had the Night of First Contact. He pulled at his skin, snubbing his nose and noticing his lack of a mouth anew. Nothing was doing. He sighed, shaved and slicked back his hair. 

 

The willowy and weight free Wooster worried he was weird. He'd often been accused of gangly-ness or gawky-ness and it hadn't irked him terribly until now. Now that he had someone to impress. He pushed aside his aesthetic grief and went to make some peppermint tea in lieu of brushing his teeth again. 

\---

Jeeves was nervous but true to his fantastic form maintained, at least, the appearance of calm. Doubts festered in his mind but being a logical creature, he rationalised them away until all the knots in his stomach had been untangled, tagged and sorted away. 

 

He fixed his cufflinks and drove to Bertie’s apartment a full half hour early, just to be sure he wasn't late. In his mind, he told himself this was normal behaviour for him, when really he was usually only fifteen minutes early and right on time at the very latest. 

 

He was sitting quiet and still in the car, collecting his thought and remaining calm when his phone lit up. Bertie. 

 

**Come right on up, old thing**

 

Bertie had clearly spotted the sensible yet modest car. Jeeves debated what to do and decided it would be rude to ignore him or pretend he hadn't seen it. He walked straight up and was apparently known to the doorman who winked at him. Jeeves ducked his head and blushed furiously once he was safe in the elevator. Bertie’s door was ajar. Jeeves thought it was cute, this man’s faith in the good of man and belief that no real harm would come to him. 

 

He entered with a knock and stood tall and still in the sitting room come kitchen. Bertie’s living space was huge and very tastefully decorated although whether or not that was his doing was to be seen. 

 

“Jeeves! Hello!” exclaimed Bertie warmly.

 

The two regarded each other. Bertie had attempted to go in for a hug but Jeeves hadn't noticed in time and now whatever was between them lay on the floor. 

 

“Yes well! Dreadfully sorry for my lateness but -”

 

“No! Bertie I admit I'm early. I had intended to wait outside but I could hardly refuse your offer to see you lovely home”

 

The room was comfortable again and Bertie felt warm under the weight of Jeeves’ charm. He was smiley, looking a bit dimly when he snapped out of his haze. 

 

“Tea?”

 

“No I'm alright thank you. Wouldn't want to spoil dinner” said Jeeves with a smile. His eyes rested on Bertie in an almost predatory way. The marching band Bertie kept in his stomach for occasions like birthdays or Christmas, got the signal and started playing. 

 

He was staring again but managed to wrench himself back into reality. He gestured to the bedroom.

 

“Right I'll just -”

 

“Of course”

 

“Make yourself at home” shouted Bertie, making a hasty retreat. Once behind the door, he leapt and silently screamed into his fist. Jeeves was here! In his flat! And Bertie was ….hiding in his room. Oh hell Wooster pull yourself together. He straightened and took a deep breath and  composed himself as well as a boy Mozart. He walked with a barely suppressed spring in his step in time to his slightly too fast heart. 

 

Jeeves was sitting in a golden armchair. Bertie’s breathe caught in his throat,  _ he looks perfect there, _ he thought. Jeeves looked up and having much the same thought smiled. He had seen the discarded choker and was pleased.

 

“Are you ready?”

 

“What?” Bertie laughed a jangly high laugh, “Yes, yes of course. You lead ahead, my man!”

 

Jeeves smirked and sucked his cheeks. Bertie locked up and berated himself for the Freudian slip. They stood close in the lift. Bertie watched Jeeves pretend to study the wood panelling in the well placed mirror. He could feel the barest heat coming from the taller man and he wanted to bathe in it. He noticed Jeeves smelled amazing too, he smelled like a perfect cup of tea on a frost bitten morning.

 

The car journey was less tense. They relaxed slightly and Bertie talked and talked and talked and Jeeves smiled his small smile. 

 

Bertie had been right to trust in Jeeves taste. The establishment was classic, reminiscent of the 1920s. A dignified buzz of chatter floated through the candle lit air. 

 

They were seated. Jeeves had some rainbow trout, causing Bertie to snicker slightly but was silenced with a look that cause him to swallow, dry mouthed. Bertie had something lovely with a lot of pesto and cream. It was strange to think that he would never have been able to eat somewhere like this even a few years ago. It was nice to feel at ease. He liked to be on equal footing with his partners, even if Jeeves was vastly more intelligent and poised they regarded which other as equals. Well he hoped. Best not get ahead of oneself, Wooster. 

 

Across the table, Jeeves was enjoying watching Bertie think. He pulled all sorts of faces and was unbearably, undeniably cute. Again their conversation flowed here and there with few stops and many starts. Bertie insisted on a selfie, posting it to his Instagram immediately and excitedly, ignore Internet and table manners. 

 

When it came time to pay the bill Bertie insisted on paying at least half. 

 

“I say, old bird it's only fair and you bought the last round, as it were and-”

 

“Bertram, I brought you out” said Jeeves, finishing the argument and shutting Bertie up. Well actually Bertie’s mouth gaped like the fish Jeeves had been eating earlier. Wasn't that a lovely thought. It wasn't often one longed to be a trout. 

 

On the way home the tension in the car returned but this was of a different ilk. Bertie was gazing at his driver, his eyes resting on the hands gripping the steering wheel competently, large strong hands. Jeeves’ hair shone under the street lamps. His face was covered in shadow but was briefly, tantalisingly illuminated by their intermittent light. He looked, to Bertie like some strange romantic hero. 

  
Then they arrived at the flat. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I welcome any spotted mistakes or critiques. 
> 
> Unfathomablespace on tumblr, dudes


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As a Virgin lesbian I am not qualified to write this. I hope I didn't fuck it up, no pun intended.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big shout out to alphamikefoxtrot and ponddipper for keeping this steam engine a' chuggin'

The lights of the lush apartment loomed. The two were still sat in the car, now was the moment to say something. Anything. Anything at all to fill the silence. Bertie, possibly for the first time in the whole of his young life, was at a loss. 

 

“Well old bird, I had a fantastic night Reginald” Bertie, lay back in the passenger seat, puffing out his cheeks and rolling his eyes in that universal awkward gesture.  His neck arched looking at Jeeves. The other man usually wrinkled his nose at the sound of his name but his let it slide this time. 

 

“Likewise Bertram.”

 

They sat, each waiting for the other to make the move. But the moment had gone and both parties were acutely aware of the fact. 

 

“Well then, old thing. Till I see you next” said Bertie stretching his long bambi legs out the door. He closed the car door and sighed. Dash it all. It was like his opportunity was a salmon in the oil slicked hand. There was that dratted fish motif again. Something must be done.

 

The finality of the revved engine rallied his heart. He turned back and stooped to the window. He waved a completely unnecessary wave and knocked. The offending glass between them was lowered. Bertie was greeted with Jeeves’ blank face. Astute onlookers would see subtle traces of surprise and mild confusion. 

 

“I say, you had that glass of wine and I couldn't have you driving on my conscience, although of course, your driving is superb. I just, well, would you like to come up?”

 

Bertie motioned to the building, then remembering his height, bowed again and repeated the mime. Jeeves turned the key in the car and got out. The quiet night seemed a tangible force now. 

 

“I would be delighted” 

 

“Wonderful!” Bertie beamed. He looked amazed at the honour despite having only just been on a date with the man. 

 

Neither mentioned that Jeeves had driven there and was very clearly clear headed. 

_ _ _

In the flat, Bertie buzzed with nervous energy, pottering about the space. Jeeves stood, again in the living room. It was a strange parody of their early positions. There was a different feel in the room. Bertie hummed around it while Jeeves only patiently bathed. 

 

‘Coffee?”

 

“No, Bertram I am quite alright. Could I trouble you for a glass of water?”

 

Bertie was not to know that this was only a ploy to move closed to him. He jumped to fulfilling Jeeves’ request with all the movement of a man electrocuted. Bertie passed it over with trembling hands, spilling a good deal of it contents. Jeeves covered Bertie’s hand in his, to still the glass, you understand of course. They looked at each other. Jeeves took the glass and set it aside. 

 

“Actually I think I'd like something else”

 

He took another step towards Bertie who looked positively appalled. 

 

“Well dash it all Jeeves why didn't you say, I have a veritable tonne of teas somewhere or -”

 

Jeeves laughed softly and gripped his shoulder, kissed him. Bertie stopped his fidgeting and softened against him. Jeeves took the lead, pressing his lips to Bertie’s, licking his bottom lip. He slowly kissed outwards towards his ear humming slightly. This allowed Bertie to recover from the (lovely) shock and pour of his innate enthusiasm into the activity at hand. 

 

He reached up and bracketed Jeeves’ face with both hands. They kissed with open mouths. Their breaths came in fast, thick pants. Jeeves grasped Bertie’s hips, lifting him up onto the kitchen island. They were a picture of perfect symmetry for one perfect moment. 

 

Bertie pulled at Jeeves’ tie to get at his neck. Jeeves had rid himself of his jacket and was now working on Bertie’s shirt buttons. He shifted his leg in between his lover’s and grinded pressing their chest together. Bertie moaned and bucked, either forgetting the etiquette of the situation or simply not caring. 

 

Jeeves pulled back a moment. The only sound was their desperate, gasping breaths. He was gratified to see Bertie try and follow him like a newborn kitten searching out heat. The man looked radiant. His cheek were pink with wine and his lips rosy from kissing. Slowly, while maintaining eye contact and lifting a brow, Jeeves trailed his hands down to Bertie’s trousers. Bertie nodded quickly and opened his zipper. 

 

He pulled down the boxers deliberately. He dragged the cotton over Bertie’s prick, smirking slightly. Bertie bucked, pushing himself into the older man’s hands. His mouth was open and pupils were wide, as if trying to burn this moment into his retinas. 

 

Jeeves bent and licked a line from the base to tip. He took the head in his mouth before sliding down with a grace one would expect given the circs. Bertie clutched at his hair, shaking out the carefully applied gel. He was watching Jeeves, with his eyelashes dusting red cheeks and his mouth around him. Jeeves looked up and Bertie nearly came there and then.

 

“Jeeves I'm-”

 

Jeeves pulled off started to stroke Bertie with his fist. Bertie was fits of pleasure, making small choked sounds. Jeeves loved seeing him beyond words.

 

“You're what, kitten?”

 

“About to come” he stuttered, gripping the marble top. Jeeves wrapped his mouth his cock again sucked and hummed. Bertie came shouting for God or Jesus or Jeeves, but for all he cared they were the same person.  He lay on the island, panting and boneless. 

 

“Jeeves! You are a wonder!”

 

Jeeves leaned down and kissed him. 

 

“One moment my man, I just have to get the breathe back in the body and I'll be up and at, er, as it were”

 

Jeeves lifted him, fireman style into the bedroom. Bertie was nearly asleep. 

 

“Just a moment Jeeves”

 

“I think not, Bertram” he said smiling a proper smile, diffused by a bedside lamp.

 

“At least stay then. Plenty of room.”

  
Jeeves hesitated. Some notions of propriety or morality flitted around his head. He slipped off his shoes and shirt. Leaving on his trousers and got into the bed as a sort of compromise. And reaching over the clinging Bertram, switched off the light. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would marry commas if I could. I finally have a plot! Six chapters in! I'm so sorry. 
> 
> Comments keep me alive.


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